"Maybe it was just greed.” Wade shook his head. "Either man could have done this to make money off of the cure.”
I leaned further over the pit. "Broth? Andrew?”
The beast gave a pitiful growl.
"Please just switch back so we can talk about this calmly.”
The werewolf tried to stand again but collapsed.
I sighed, straightening my stance. The forest was dark and cold. It was getting later by the hour. But as much as I wanted to throw up my hands and leave the creature in here until morning, to see if a cold night in a hole might make him more agreeable, I wasn’t going to do that.
"Broth was rough around the edges,” Beth began slowly. "He was probably already involved in illegal activity. Maybe he did this to get his girlfriend back in some strange way. Maybe he thought the money would bring her back to him.”
I decided to play along. "And maybe Andrew wasn’t as civilized and happy as he pretended to be. Maybe he got a thrill from hunting the unicorns. Or maybe he and his partner wanted a bigger house, or more trips, and more money could give them what they wanted.”
"Maybe revenge played a role in this,” Daniel suggested. "I’ve worked a lot of cases, and personal reasons tend to fuel crimes a lot of the time.”
"Was someone trying to hurt the committee members then, both by attacking them, and by being the only ones with the cure? Was this about control?” I asked.
The werewolf seemed to be listening to all of this. My hope was that something we said would be enough to get him to react. That he might shift and confess, or even correct us.Something. But the werewolf stayed silent.
"Darn it,” I muttered.
Beth sighed. "I guess we’ll just have to wait him out.”
TWENTY-ONE
Emma
The werewolf's howl cut through the silence of the night, a mournful sound that seemed to carry a thousand sorrows. It lingered in the air before fading away into a quiet whimper. Below us, the beast looked defeated, exhausted, and in pain.
After a moment of silence, it began to twitch. The stringy hair faded from its body, leaving behind smooth skin and clothes. The pointy ears disappeared, the claws and teeth retracted. He curled up at the bottom of the hole, entirely human now. But who was he?
Slowly, he turned to face us, and I instantly recognized the face. But from where? A memory scratched at the edge of my mind as I surveyed his brown eyes, brown hair, and plain face. This man was utterly forgettable, but I think that’s exactly why I remembered him. It was Mestin Finespike, his form hunched and trembling, his eyes pleading. His broad shoulders heaved, his face damp with the evening dew.
Holy crap. "Mestin, are you okay?" I asked, not sure what else to say.
"I’ve been better." He grunted, attempting to push himself up from the forest floor and failing.
"Um, we didn't expect to see you here," I said.
"Life's full of surprises," Mestin replied, a wry smile on his face.
We stared at Mestin. This was the man who had been with Trudy and Nam, his face etched with concern at the hospital. Now he stood before us, an unexpected ghost in the midst of shadowed trees. A mysterious figure suddenly appearing in this case.
"Help me," Mestin said, his voice strained. He looked worse for the wear, clothes tattered and eyes desperate.
"Help you?" I echoed, disbelief coloring my tone. "Why should we?"
"Please." His hands were outstretched, pleading. He tried yet again to rise and fell miserably.
"Start talking, Finespike,” Beth said. "What's going on?"
"Look, I..." He hesitated, glancing around like he expected the trees to sprout ears and listen. "I need your help."
"Sure, right after you explain what the heck is happening here," I demanded. "You can't just show up and expect?—"
"Please," he cut in, urgency lacing his words. "Please, I'm in trouble. I’m pretty sure my leg is broken. It’s swollen and painful, and there’s no way I’m going to make it out of these woods without help."
